To Love and Be Loved
by Colleentj
Summary: A free-verse poem for Ilia; "She is smiles/ She is warmth/ She is melodic, beautiful laughter, a mere child against the pallet of the world..." This one goes out to all the haters. Shame on you. Shame. On. You. Ilia is wonderful, and this is why.


A springtime girl

with rose-pink feet

sets out, chutes of cool,

pale grass curling between

curious, experimental toes…

The soil is soft

and warm

and at nine years old,

sunlight dripping gold

and spilling over

the hills, this

for Ilia

is pure,

unadulterated

bliss.

.

She is smiles

She is warmth

She is melodic,

beautiful laughter,

a mere child

against the

pallet of the

world.

.

Then she is ten

and eleven

and twelve

and Link is

a steady pulse

to her…

The thudding of hooves

like a heartbeat

and her fists

clenched

against his shirt

as they soar...

kicking up dirt,

stones, roots,

tearing apart

the forest floor

in their wake.

.

Then she is thirteen

and fourteen

and fifteen

and her heart is hammering

_madly_

when she sees him.

Lean muscles

country smile

dazed eyes

wild

feral

he is _beautiful._

_._

Then she is sixteen

and the sunlight

surging through

her veins

shines brighter

than ever.

.

Music erupts

from her soul

when she smiles;

pale eyes glisten

and crinkle

at the corners

because all she wants

is to love

and be loved

(possibly by that beautiful boy).

.

Suddenly

she is nobody

and she does not understand

why.

.

They ask her name;

she cannot recall

who

or why

or _what _

she is

and that in itself

is too much

to bear.

.

Terror

claws at her

from the inside

out…

Even smiles offered

with good intentions

send a shock wave

of fear

sprawling

through her veins.

.

Then she is running again

her lungs parched

her chest aching

the air is dry

heavy

it _hurts _her

all she knows

is the pavement

beneath her feet

and her toes-

they are not curious-

they are a lifeline.

If they were curious

then that would be one thing

but she wants to know

no more

of this cruel,

sharp

earth.

.

The music is caged inside

for she does not laugh;

the sunlight in her blood

is blotted out;

but even in her confusion

her desperation

even in her pain

she does not crack

or crumble

or shake.

Even in the dark

all she wants

is to love

and be loved

(by anybody, really).

.

So when she is running

shrieking

and stumbles upon that

white

white

white

aquatic figure,

pale,

malnourished,

crumbling,

she wraps trembling limbs

around him

and howls for help.

.

The running never stops

and the woman

called "Telma"

joins in swift

heavy

dutiful strides;

"honey"

Telma calls her;

_honey_

and just like that

she has a name again.

.

Then _he _enters

she does not know him

and yet he seems

a part of her.

Lean muscles

country smile

dazed eyes

wild

feral

he is _beautiful_

but

_who_

_is_

_he?_

He makes a promise-

not empty, she presumes-

to be their

salvation

and so

she trails after him

blindly

blissfully

madly-

_convinced_ that he

if anything

makes sense.

.

Hell is not behind her;

it is before her;

in hell, the wagon burns

unforeseen and brutal;

a punishment

but

for whom?

Smoke clogs everything

she cannot breathe

she cannot breathe

she cannot

e

she never knew

she was afraid of fire

until now.

Even so

she holds on

muttering prayers

sweaty fingers

wringing each other

as the wagon crumbles

debris raining down

in this inferno.

.

Then

like that

the fire's out…

the abyss

is behind her

that chasm

that hell

is behind her.

Warm arms

encapsulate her,

sweet mutterings

of safety

in her ears.

The fires did not scorch her

but instead

ignited her;

she is a candle

and she will burn

a hole straight

through

the darkness.

.

She is Honey;

she is a candle

that fears fire

(how ironic)

still, a candle

permeates darkness

and she has seen

enough of that;

she could be frail

but instead

she gathers her courage

and transfigures it

into _light_

into _music_

into _sunshine_

and smiles through her nerves

declares a war on confusion

and

_fights back._

_._

Then

they all come stomping

a string of doctors

and men

who call themselves

"officials"

who demand to know

her name…

enraged

she sobs

"I don't know"

"I don't know"

"please

sir

I do not know"

She is furious

she is frightened

and it is

_that boy_

(the beautiful one)

who makes a promise-

not empty, she presumes-

to be her

salvation.

.

And he is.

.

When she gapes at him

her pale eyes

wash over with tears

and suddenly

_finally_

she is Ilia…

This beautiful boy

_(Link Link LINK)_

she has known from the start

as a steady pulse

to her…

(that truly has never stopped)

she is flooded with

the thudding of hooves

like a heartbeat

and her fists

clench now

against his tunic

as they soar...

stitching up

her memories

in their wake.

_._

Honey

is like sunlight

for both are golden

both are sweet

both are dense

and drip

and spill out of

their vessels.

When she smiles

pale eyes glisten

and crinkle

at the corners

because all she wants

is to love

and be loved

(and she is, by that beautiful boy).

.

So at sixteen years old

he reminds her daily

who

and why

and _what _

she is

_(She is smiles_

_She is warmth_

_She is melodic,_

_beautiful laughter)_

and that in itself

is pure,

unadulterated

bliss.

**I love Ilia. You people have no idea. I see way too many "'"authors""" taking a crap on this beautiful character because she gets in the way of their OTP (may I remind you that Link had more chemistry with **_**Telma**_** than he did with Zelda AHEMHEMHEM), and while I'm all for Freedom of Ship and the Right to Bear Ships and everything else in the Bill of Rights (come on, guys, it's elementary school), I still don't see why we all have to pretend that Ilia's jealous and bitter when really she's never portrayed as being anything except courageous, compassionate, and (incidentally) hella cute.**

**Anyway, I don't often write poetry- particularly free verse- but I wanted to write about Ilia without having to commit to anything, so I sat down and did this instead of my calculus homework. You're welcome, universe. ;)**

**-C**


End file.
